Don't speak
by BethanyKatherine
Summary: Harry and Hermione find that they need fewer and different words than they thought to communicate their feelings to each other.


It was raining. It was dark, stormy, and a shrieking gale whipped around the grounds of Hogwarts castle. Outside he paced the grounds in ignorance of the tempest around him ; shining hair, sparkling eyes, and a bewitching smile hanuted his mind. Lightning crashed through the sky, illuminating crooked shapes all around him, and yet nothing seemed to make any more sense than it had previously.

Inside there was a roaring fire, casting a warm bright glow over the common room. Hermione's head was bent over a book and parchment as usual. She had been working steadily for hours, putting in more effort than in any of her previous six years, if possible.

She jumped when the portrait hole banged open, an event occuring simultaneously with a brilliant flash of lightning ; a dark silhouette slashed across the floor, and when the bolt was gone, Harry had appeared. He towered at the darker side of the room, seeming to have been dipped in black ink, a figure painted in negative light; only his eyes and where the golden light from the fire shone on him glowed.

« Harry » she gasped reflexively, staring at him with wide eyes.

His sopping wet cloak hit the stone floor with a wet slap and he made his way across the room towards her.

« You're absolutely drenched » she said, feeling the need to state the obvious, if only to say something. Truthfully, she didn't know what to say. She had rarely seen Harry in a comparable state, and as he treaded ever nearer, that strange stare fixed on her alone, she had to admit that she was becoming fearful.

This was new for her as well. Never had she had reason to truly fear her best friend. Many times she had been afraid, and too many times to count she had been afraid _for_ him, but this feeling of _unknown_ eminating from him was throwing her off.

« Harry » she began again.

But he silenced her. He said nothing. He did nothing. But something about him commanded silence, and she obeyed.

He was right in front of her. He stopped and took her small, trembling hands in his. He pulled her to her feet, and looked over her pale face carefully.

She glanced timidly up at him. She was almost afraid to look at him for too long. She took in his vivid green eyes, the black lines of his eyelashes, and the jet black bangs that stuck messily to his forehead. She was struck by his beauty. She had always known he was handsome, she would have to have been blind and stupid not to know that. But what she saw now was the delicate construction of his visage, the precise features that he was composed of. This realization caught in her throat with a small sound, and she looked away suddenly. A prickly sensation tickled at her neck and face. She shook her head a little and tried to step away from him, but he held her hands tightly, and something about his grip made her look back into his face.

His eyes were searching her face, searching her eyes. His expression seemed more approachable, but was still strange and terrifying in a new way.

« Harry » she tried to say, but he silenced her.

« Don't say anything. » The first words he had spoken to her. She fell silent, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes.

« Can I trust you ? » he asked.

« Of course » she answered immediately. Harry was her best friend, any secrets he had for her he knew he could trust her with. And yet even as she answered him automatically she knew this was not what he was asking. She knew why he was there, and what interested her the most was that it felt as though she had known why all along, but had simply been searching for reassurance that this was what he saught from her.

« Can I trust you ? » he asked again, and this time she was absolutly sure this is what he meant : « Do you love me ? »

« With all your heart » she answered solemnly : « I love you. »

With no further ado, he pulled her towards him and kissed her gently. She tasted rainwater, felt it dripping down her face from his soaking hair, and most importantly felt the extreme rightness of it all.

He pulled away just a few inches, searching her eyes again for acceptance of this gesture, or a complete refutal. She smiled brilliantly at him and whispered « I trust you. »

He smiled at her and kissed her again, wrapping his arms around her and envelopping her in his rain-ladden shirt. She laughed and pulled herself closer. What did a little rain matter between friends, anyway ?


End file.
